by P. G. Glynn
“That would be convenient!”
“Come again. Did you just say what I think you said?”
“You’ll get used to me. Didn’t Charles warn you that I’m not one for beating about the bush? I believe in saying it as it is. That way everyone knows where they stand and there are no nasty surprises. So I may as well mention at the outset that you’ve blighted my life. Oh, not as Frau Berger – but as Marie Howard, erstwhile star of OLIVER TWIST, whose name was never far from my husband’s and father-in-law’s lips! Even when they weren’t speaking of you I knew they were thinking of that brief span when you cast your spell over the West End. It must have been quite a spell, to affect them both so protractedly. And now, finally, we meet!”
Feeling distinctly disadvantaged, Marie said: “I seem to have come to the wrong person for help.”
“Not necessarily. Now that I’ve said my piece we can probably proceed, once we’ve talked and established what your expectations are. Obviously the world has moved on since the heyday of the Tavistock and except with the Brodie men Marie Howard is long forgotten. So I need to know whether you’re prepared to start again from the bottom.” Leaning back in her chair and surveying both Marie and Charles, she asked: “Or is that too harsh an assessment for you?”
Charles started to speak, but Marie – who could feel the tension in him - placed a restraining hand on his arm and answered: “That isn’t especially harsh, considering the length of my absence from the stage. I’m glad you’re being practical. I prefer practicalities to empty promises and false hopes. What altogether is involved in beginning again at my age?”
Judith shrugged. “While it’s best from all points of view to be young, age is not a particular issue, especially as you’ve worn well. Attitude is far more important, which is why I made a point of testing yours. Had you been expecting London to fall gratefully at your feet, I’d have been straight out of that door. However, as you – to my surprise – are turning out to be a realist, I’m prepared to point you in the right direction if you consult me professionally. Can you come to the Brodie School next Tuesday at two?”
“I’ll be there,” said Marie.
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After Judith’s departure Charles had expressed shock – and chagrin – at her manner. He had never known her so brusque, he told Marie, and couldn’t think what was wrong with her. She, though, felt a kind of pity for Judith and was flattered to know the degree to which Guy as well as his father had kept her memory alive all these years. It was also flattering that Guy had married a woman who was Marie’s absolute opposite. Obviously, if he couldn’t have the original he didn’t want a poor copy!
The Brodie School of Dramatic Art was housed impressively on the edge of Hampstead Heath. Marie was shown into Judith’s office by a formidable secretary sporting pince-nez, a twin-set and long black skirt and blessed or cursed with the name of Blanche de Villers. Her gaze was drawn at once to the desk behind which Judith was sitting. It was large, with an inlaid leather surface scarred with usage. Marie knew the scars – knew them as if she had seen them only yesterday. She was standing again by the desk that had been Charles’s. Fingering a familiar dent that faced her she said: “This takes me back!”
“Yes,” Judith acknowledged, looking up from some papers she had been engrossed in and gesturing for Marie to sit in the chair opposite hers, “it did once belong at the Tavistock. It was one of the few items of furniture salvaged after the theatre went to the dogs. What a farce all that was! Thank God that nowadays actors act and managers manage. Acting talent seldom goes hand-in-hand with business acumen.”
“Are you saying Charles was to blame for what happened?”
“Far be it from me to apportion blame,” Judith stated with the air of someone about to do just that. “However, if I were to name names I’d incline toward … yours. It seems to me that from the moment Marie Howard arrived on the scene the Tavistock Theatre’s future was in jeopardy.”
“That’s unfair!”
“Is it? From where I’m sitting it’s clear that you created havoc for Charles both professionally and emotionally. Oh, I know,” she held up one hand as Marie attempted to speak, “that for a brief span of time you had audiences beguiled. But, let’s face it, brevity is the key word in all this – and Charles was married when you set your cap at him. Had you no scruples about his marriage?”
“So now you’re my judge and my jury!” Marie said, standing up and preparing to leave. “How dare you sit in judgment on me when you weren’t there to know the truth of what went on? You’re just surmising and couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Enlighten me then. Tell me how it actually was.”
“It’s none of your business, besides which you wouldn’t believe me. You seem set for some reason on thinking badly of me and creating a scapegoat. Well, that won’t wash … and I won’t be bothering you any further in terms of asking your help. It was obviously a big mistake to come to you in the first place.”
Marie had turned on her heel and almost reached the door when she heard the word: “Sorry.”
Over her shoulder, she queried: “What for?”
“Everything,” Judith said, spreading her hands as if in a plea. “I didn’t mean to … to be as I have been. Something just … came over me. Can we start afresh?”
After reflection Marie said: “Very well, subject to dispatching the past and staying in the present.”
“That’s fine by me.”
They settled down to business, with Judith giving Marie several of Lady Macbeth’s speeches to read so that she could assess her ability. These seemed to pass muster, for she then said: “Though rusty, you come over as a pro, so I recommend that you join Equity. That, in case you don’t know, is the actors’ union and membership is essential these days. And you’ll need good management. There’s none better than R.A. Brooker’s of Shaftesbury Avenue. They own, or control, over fifty per cent of West End theatres and seventy-five per cent of the top provincial playhouses, so I needn’t spell out the desirability of being with them. If you can win Bobbie Buccleuch over, as you’ve just won me, you’ll be all set for success. Should he be out of town, as he often is, aim to see his Personal Assistant – a Mrs Dorothy Madison.” Judith peered over rimless spectacles at Marie, as if half expecting some reaction. When there was none, other than interest, she said: “Between you and me, Dorothy is the power behind the throne. Bobbie thinks he runs Brooker’s but his ‘Assistant’ is the most powerful woman – theatrically speaking – in London. Get on the right side of Dorothy and you’re made, whereas those who find themselves on the wrong side … ” Judith’s shrug said the rest. Then she smiled reassuringly, volunteering: “I can, if you like, when we’ve had a cup of tea and planned our strategy, set up an appointment for you with one of them.”
“Fine,” Marie replied with a sudden rush of adrenalin like old times. “How very kind.” She had been curious for a while about a photo frame facing Judith on the desk and now vented her curiosity. Inclining her head towards it, she asked: “Does that hold a picture of Guy?”
“No, it doesn’t. The photo is one that he took of our sons.” Holding it for Marie’s inspection, she said: “James is on the left. He’s seven now and Edward is five.”
“It’s Edward, then, who’s so like Guy!”
“Yes, in character as well as in looks. He’s quiet and shy, whereas James is ebullient and somewhat larger than life. Strange, isn’t it, how siblings can differ?”
“It certainly is,” Marie quickly agreed. “Hugo and Carla … ”
“Carla?” Judith said, when Marie hesitated. “So Charles fathered your daughter! How very … enlightening! Does she take after him?”
“She died in infancy.”
“Oh, I’m sorry – I truly am, Marie! Losing a child, however conceived, must be … ”
“It’s the worst thing imaginable,” Marie said with finality. “Did you mention a cup of tea?”
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An appointment wi
th Mrs Madison had duly been made for the following Friday at three and now Marie was digesting Hugo’s news, which had arrived with the morning post. She re-read his letter aboard the bus taking her to the West End to shop for a new outfit. One could hardly meet the powerful Dorothy Madison wearing pre-war clothes.
The essence of Hugo’s letter was that Helena was pregnant. Marie was not sure how she felt about that. She knew how she should feel: excited and thrilled. But she didn’t. It was all too soon. She wasn’t ready, yet, to be a grandmother. Grandmas didn’t make comebacks. They sat and knitted, reminiscing over their lost youth. Giddy godfathers – it wasn’t long since she was pregnant with Carla. In one sense it didn’t seem long, whereas in others …
Time was so odd. It passed, ageing humans in the process, but solely on the surface. Marie felt, within, as if she were still twenty. The fact that the calendar told a different story was perplexing. Whenever she looked in the mirror it shocked her afresh that there were lines where once there was smoothness. And now, as if to reinforce time’s passage, Hugo and Helena were expecting. Oh heck!
In his letter Hugo also asked the question that Mam had been asking for some time: when did Marie intend returning to Gilchrist? She could well imagine their reaction if they knew of her reason for remaining in London. Fortunately they need not know. She was free, now that Hugo was a married man, to have her life back.
Looking across the rooftops to the barrage balloon that was moored like some slumbering whale on its steel cable above Horseguard’s Parade, Marie was reminded of strolling beneath it with Charles recently and coming face-to-face with the film and stage star Ronald Shiner, who was a special constable on duty at the Parade’s entrance gate. He, observing Charles’s blindness, had commented that it was better to remember pre-war London than to see the state of things currently. To which Charles responded that, thanks to Marie, he ‘saw’ all that needed seeing. It occurred to her now that all she needed to see was that Hugo and Helena were having a baby. The fact that they were having one did not age her in any way. She must remember that, never forgetting that essentially nothing had changed.
After window-shopping at Swan & Edgar’s – which had not been built in 1919 – Marie crossed Regent Street and headed for Liberty’s. She knew where she was in Arthur Lasenby Liberty’s exotic establishment, having often shopped there with Otto in the old days. And she had plenty of clothing coupons saved. Marie had soon settled on a paisley two-piece in a bluish grey.
Heading then in the direction of Leicester Square, buttoned up against a biting wind, she descended steps into the underground’s circular passage to cross Piccadilly Circus untroubled by traffic. The tube-station, along with many others, was doubling as an air-raid shelter for the duration of the war, with Londoners in tens of thousands camping out on platforms and being entertained. The Entertainments National Services Association, better known as ENSA, took concert parties to the campers and in such ‘shelters’ a refreshing community spirit prevailed. Now, amidst all the daytime activity, Marie crossed easily to Coventry Street passing posters asking IS YOUR JOURNEY REALLY NECESSARY? warning CARELESS TALK COSTS LIVES, or exhorting DIG FOR VICTORY. Nell was doing her bit of digging and grew enough vegetables in her back garden to feed her extended ‘family’. She was also boiling all drinking water because of the risk of Typhoid Fever in Camden Town, thanks to raid-damage on drainage communications.
Lyons Corner House beckoned Marie as she reached ground level again facing Leicester Square and she decided to lunch there. The building had more or less recovered from being bombed in the great air raid of 10 May 1941 and she felt very much at home as she was shown to a table and a ‘Nippy’ in a black dress, frilly white apron and matching frilled hair band came to wait on her. This might not be Claridge’s but it was where Charles had brought Marie recently so held special memories.
The world was at war, with sudden death an ever-present threat and with terrible things happening everywhere, but she and Charles had found each other again and she was now about to resume her career as well. So she had much to be thankful for and no cause for regret. It was even a comfort to know that if one dark night a bomb was dropped on them, she and Charles would die in bed together.
Lunch over, Marie strolled along Shaftesbury Avenue and saw with sadness that the red-brick Shaftesbury Theatre was gone. Like the dear old Tavistock, it had been bombed. Now cars were parked in the gaps they had left behind … but the Cambridge Theatre was showing a Shaw revival! Her feet slowed so that she could see whose names, were it not wartime, would have been in lights. Robert Donat, she saw, was playing Captain Shotover to Deborah Kerr’s Ellie Dunn – and then, on the bill, she spotted Edith Evans’s name among the supporting cast.
Edith was one of the actresses Charles had mentioned trying to obtain to take over from her as Nancy. And her birth-date was now recorded as 1888, whereas Marie had been born ten years later. It was reassuring that, at the age of fifty-four, here Edith was, playing at the Cambridge. She was not the leading lady, but then how could she be, in her fifties? With advancing years one had to accept that some roles were gone forever. Marie would never play Nancy again and nor would she ever play Juliet. But had she cause for regret, when Judith had asked her to read Lady Macbeth?
Certainly not! One needed maturity to play some of the plum roles written by the great dramatists. Perhaps, even, there was due to be a revival of MACBETH in the West End and Judith had wind of it.
Marie was still getting to grips with the fact that Guy was married to Judith. It was because of the marriage that she had tried to keep on an even keel when his wife delivered some of her bile. She was too fond of Guy to want to be on bad terms with the woman he presumably loved, but his choice of partner was puzzling – and, given Judith’s obvious dislike, it was also a puzzle as to why she had gone to the trouble of setting up an appointment that could change Marie’s life.
Finding the imposing Brooker building, which was right by Cambridge Circus, she gazed up at it and again asked herself the question: why?
49
Charles lay in the darkness with Marie in his arms. He lay listening to her even breathing, still awed that she had returned to him. He did not deserve her. Nevertheless, she was here and he thanked a God he had not believed in previously for the fact that she was back.
She was not the girl she had been in 1919 but he couldn’t seem to make her see that the woman of today was still more treasured than that girl had been. He had learned much through the cards life had dealt him, just as Marie had learned from the path she had trodden, and they were now together in a state of profound blessedness. Just one extra blessing was needed to reach total perfection. When, with the help of Judith and Mrs Madison, Marie was back where she belonged Charles would feel that finally he could shed the guilt that had dogged him for so long.
And her meeting with Dorothy Madison was arranged for tomorrow! How, in the circumstances, Marie could sleep Charles did not know. Here he was, awake and awaiting daybreak with such anticipation, while she was serenely asleep. It was just as well, though, that she was sleeping. She would need to be well rested in readiness for all that the day would bring.
He had such high hopes for her and it was because of these that he had approached Judith, who had the contacts he now lacked. Success in any venture rested on ability but beyond question it also helped to know the right people – and, while Judith had an unfortunate manner at times, she certainly knew her way around the acting profession and how to open doors that might otherwise remain closed to an actress of over forty who had been ‘resting’ for quite a while. This meeting with Mrs Madison was, he felt sure, entirely due to Judith’s influence and he now acknowledged his indebtedness.
Charles was aware that his quest for Marie’s renewed success was not altogether selfless. He wanted the limelight for her but also for himself. It was exciting to visualise sharing her new life. He could help her learn lines, could listen as she interpreted roles … could advise. He ha
d been giving advice and hearing her recite on a daily basis since she met with Judith, so knew that her talent was intact. As for when the curtain rose again on Marie Howard: though he could not play opposite her, he could at least be in the theatre, hearing her vibrant voice filling the auditorium … applauding with the rest of her audience.
At the thought of all the delights in store he smiled.
“Why are you smiling?” she enquired, snuggling against him.
“I didn’t hear you opening your eyes!”
“Do you usually? I know your hearing’s in a league of its own, but even so … ” Marie had sensed rather than seen his smile, for it was still dark.. She had found recently that she was sensing things much as he sensed them. More and more it was as if they were one person. “I’ve just had the strangest dream.”
“Oh?”
“It was about Judith. She had changed.”
“In what way?”
“Sexually: she was very definitely a man!”
“Good heavens! We’d better hope for Guy’s sake that your dream wasn’t prophetic.”
“Do you like her?”
“Not especially. I suppose the important thing is that Guy must like her – and that she’s willing to assist you back onto the theatrical ladder.”
“It’s why she’s assisting that bothers me, considering that we didn’t take to each other one bit. There’s no logic in it.”
“Does there have to be? Judith has a strong sense of family.”
“But I’m not a Brodie.”
“Not yet,” Charles said, kissing her and fondling her breasts, “or not in name at least. In every other respect you’re already my wife to the nth degree. So let’s forget Judith for the time being and … ”
“Yes,” Marie agreed, Judith already forgotten as he stirred fervent responses in her, “let’s.”
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